My Brother
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Rollo is in pain, what kind of man is he now that he likely won't walk again? Who would ever waste time with a cripple? Apart from a perplexing meddlesome priest.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Set after the season two finale episode 'The Lord's Prayer.' This fic contains some heavy implication of Athelstan/Ragnar, or Athelstan/Lagertha/Aslaug, or Athelstan/Lagertha/Aslaug/Ragnar, it all depends on what the villagers are gossiping about and what Rollo believes ;)_

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><p><strong>MY BROTHER<strong>

Rollo's world was now constantly consumed by pain. He could not yet walk without fire spreading under his skin, it was an agony that never seemed to end. His thoughts swelled always towards self-loathing, how could he fight like this? He was nothing without a sword in his hand. How would he reach Valhalla now? He was a man no longer, he was nothing.

Siggy remained with him, she fed him, offered him mead and slept beside him. But she also spent time with King Horik and his son, had she warmed their beds again? Anger rolled within the fire that plagued Rollo. But with her actions Siggy was also protecting Kattegat and its people, she was the danger in Horik's plan that the King had not yet noticed. She was still Rollo's wife though and how many in Kattegat knew of what she was doing? How many had looked at him as less than man, with eyes filled with pity and derision?

Siggy had not flinched when striding forth to protect Kattegat. Rollo had flinched too many times. He understood well the weapons his wife wielded so expertly and he knew that Ragnar's plans were strong and necessary. But he did not relish the steps his wife had taken and would take again, he never would. Jealousy and wounded pride were heavy welts upon his flesh, they were wounds that did not heal.

Siggy had once scorned him for finding pleasure with other women and in drink while his brother had spoken with kings. Like Ragnar, she had always seen clearly what Rollo hadn't. How was that? How was he blind to the paths that had brought Ragnar so much? And why? It was another burden that Rollo bore, heavy on every limb.

Eir could not deliver help soon enough, if such help was ever to reach him.

Rollo could hear voices now and there were shadows moving on the wall. Rollo strained to gain a glimpse of his visitor, pain striking with his every movement, his empty hands forever missing their sword hilts. How he could fight like this? What could he achieve? Death would be a kindness now.

Athelstan, it was Athelstan talking quietly to Siggy. Siggy was nodding, pressing fingers to Athelstan's arm, a gesture the priest accepted without looking frightened or embarrassed as he might have done before. The Saxon had changed but while Ragnar claimed that Athelstan had ensured Rollo's safe return to Kattegat, Rollo only remembered how Athelstan had looked in priest garb in Wessex, how at peace he had seemed, how far away from who he'd become in Kattegat. Rollo had been so sure that Athelstan had betrayed them.

Now his heart was troubled on such a matter. Athelstan had been given a choice and he had chosen Wessex. When he had later wished to return, Ragnar had been happy, as was everybody else it seemed. Ragnar's heart was soft and that always brought trouble. He had forgiven Rollo, had their positions been reversed Rollo would have chosen differently.

Siggy had become friends with Athelstan, Rollo had seen them talking together before and had noticed his wife's enjoyment at talking with someone who did not see Jarl Haraldson when conversing with her. Athelstan had always seen the world differently, once that had been laughable, now Rollo was undecided. He did not relish that. He liked the certainty of a blade in hand, a victory feast, a warm woman, an enemy to carve apart. Odin's way; the world was a war that warriors were called to win. Ragnar had always claimed that Odin's way had more sides to it than that but Ragnar had always claimed a lot of things.

There was little certainty in Rollo's life now, the uncertainties chipped away at him. The pity that surrounded him was like so many blows. And the priest kept visiting him, almost every day he tried to talk to Rollo but Rollo always refused to see him. Athelstan usually stayed for some time though, sitting in confusing silence. What did they have to talk about? Ragnar was the one who valued such conversation, not Rollo. Athelstan was nothing to Rollo, merely a strange fancy that his brother had decided to steal away to Kattegat, a warm body to enjoy full of strange beliefs to ridicule. Now he was important enough for Ragnar to steal away a second time, a treasure who had consented and who apparently often lay with both Aslaug and Lagertha if what Rollo had overheard was true.

Lagertha. She was still a sight to see, like dawn after the coldest of nights. A warrior with blood on her lips and in her heart, she led her own village now and without a husband at her side. Siggy had asked if he still loved her, Rollo could not conceive of not loving Lagertha. He had been taken with her from the moment Ragnar had found her, a scornful shieldmaiden, beautiful in her anger and fire. He would love Lagertha as he loved Ragnar - no matter what occurred, Rollo's love would remain a fact, a constant, in his life. Lagertha was her own woman though and she could not provide a man with sons. But even if Siggy birthed Rollo's children, Lagertha would always have his heart.

There was silence now, Siggy had left, maybe to speak with King Horik or Floki. But there was a footstep and Athelstan was still there, dressed in Norse clothing once more. He looked at peace, as he had done when Rollo had been groggy and aching with deep wounds, England's sunshine spreading across his pained skin. What had Athelstan told King Ecbert? Why did he keep coming back here when Rollo never spoke to him?

Not too long ago, Rollo had wrapped shaking fingers around Athelstan's throat and had tried to squeeze the life out of him. Athelstan had freed himself but he hadn't run away.

Athelstan had taken a seat close to the bed now and was looking at Rollo. He had axes on his belt again, they had been his preferred weapon before. Rollo vaguely recalled watching through bloodshot eyes as Ragnar and Athelstan had sparred, laughing together as Athelstan's keen gaze and mind had worked hard to learn. Would he truly kill for Ragnar? Ragnar had reported how Athelstan had saved his life in Wessex by killing a warrior who had intended on striking Ragnar. Ragnar was prone to exaggeration though and he had always claimed Athelstan like a prize, like something worthy. He did not like to be proved wrong, in this he was determined not to be.

Athelstan seemed comfortable with the weapons though. He smiled a little when Rollo looked at him and didn't try to speak, instead he raised his eyebrows as though daring Rollo to speak first. Rollo snorted and pointedly closed his eyes. If he wasn't currently in so much pain, he would have turned his back on Athelstan. He wanted the priest gone, though not too far away. Rollo wanted to keep an eye on him. If Athelstan was so favoured, Rollo wanted to know why. To learn new things was how his brother had stayed alive and vanquished those with ill notions against him. Rollo had always favoured the world staying as it was, with raiding and women and feasts. Now his brother who scared jarls and kings was exalted and he had forgiven Rollo, an unexpected gift. Rollo could not lose his brother's love again. If he could, he would stand at Ragnar's side and remind Ragnar of the certainties that his brother sometimes lost sight of. If he could, Rollo would learn, as his brother had done.

Because Ragnar had learned and had been blessed, he had many sons, a princess for a wife, a former wife willing to fight in his name, and a priest that he and his family held close. That priest now chose to spend time with Rollo, so

perhaps Ragnar's blessing could be shared. The priest's actions were fuelled by pity no doubt. Rollo clenched his teeth and kept his eyes closed. But he could hear the priest praying, in Norse? He was praying in Norse to Eir and to Odin, his tone was not mocking or disbelieving, it was fervent. Occasionally he asked his own Christian god for help too, but he never circled far from the gods that Rollo had always known.

The world was mocking Rollo, the gods had clearly left him. The pain was still so present, perhaps it always would be now. Rollo kept his eyes closed, but he listened.

_-the end_


End file.
